James Salter knows how to string a sentence together.

It’s a pleasurable treat to read out his 1975 novel “Light Years” deep at night or in wee hours of the morning. It’s a portrait of marriage and relationships (or the dissolving nature of these human entanglements): unsentimentally sensual, elegantly economical but existentially devastating. Some of the best sex descriptions in a novel — impressionistic but thrilling. Ah, the main axis in our life is a sexual one; the dance steps might change over the course of life-time, but the music essentially remains the same …

A great New Yorker profile on him:

“In conversation, he’s courteous, flinty, guarded, and particular in a way that combines shyness and care. He doesn’t like to be asked things directly.” It says.

“He also conveys the knowledge that it will add up to nothing. Everyone and everything will be forgotten. You come away from his work wondering if you should have lived more, even if living more, in his work, often leads to ruin.”